


Doom and Desire

by Chromer76



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Fluff, Multi, Not Really Character Death, The ship Joanne was too cowardly to give us, draco and hermione - Freeform, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:54:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26457499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromer76/pseuds/Chromer76
Summary: AU where Voldemort won and the subsequent struggle between Voldemort's forces and the remnants of the Order. In order to repay the debt he owes Harry for saving his life during the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy rescues Hermione, and they begin leading a double life. One, the perfect pureblood couple in a society of deteriorating decorum as the Deatheaters continue to wreak havoc. The other, a pair of damaged teenagers who are forced to rely on each other despite their differences. Can they work together to avenge Harry and stop Voldemort?Enjoy!
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Original characters and plot belong to JK Rowling.

Potter is dead. Potter is dead. Potter is dead. How is Potter dead? It wasn't supposed to end this way... 

Draco stood aghast and alone in the barren wasteland that was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

He had been sent by the Dark Lord to make sure no more of Potter's forces lingered in the once-grand school. The cool breeze that flowed over him was nothing compared to the way his heart chilled at the sight of the school. Draco still remembered the events of yesterday like it was nothing. Being forced to go to the battle. How fast it had started to move after Potter and the Weasel had saved him and Goyle after Crabbe set a fiendfire in the room of requirement. Escaping, being incapable of bringing himself to harm another student. Thinking that Potter was dead and feeling a complete sense of loss and resignment. Realizing Potter was alive, sharing the elation of the rest of the students, and throwing him a wand. Potter and Voldemort dueling. Voldemort killing Potter.

Both sides had been shocked when the Boy Who Lived finally fell. Draco had expected it to just be another trick, Potter would get up and kill the Dark Lord at any moment, and Draco could finally be free. But nothing happened, Potter did not get up. Draco had been across the room, but he was still close enough to see the slackening of Potter's jaw that could not be replicated by anything other than true and utter death.

Potter's forces had been shocked into submission, many fleeing, many others being captured by the Dark Lord's forces. Several of the Wealsy's had escaped, Draco knew, along with a few notable members of the so-called Order of the Pheonix.

Draco had watched almost helplessly as Granger, on her knees with the shock of losing her best friend, was tossed aside by a giant, knocking her head against the ground with a chilling thud. Blood had poured from her wound, coating her face. She was dead too, certainly.

Everywhere he turned, death and destruction followed. People Draco had known since childhood were killing students, recognizable both with and without masks. Draco sunk to his knees as he watched his own father torture a muggle-born second-year. Why had that student still been in the school? Didn't all the younger ones get out much earlier? Draco had leaned over and puked.

Draco didn't move until all of the fighting had ceased, feet frozen to the ground in horror and fear. His mother approached him once most of the rebel forces were either killed or chased out. His cheeks were wet, he'd registered vaguely. He turned to look at her, the woman who had been so central to his manipulation for the past two years and couldn't find even an ounce of remorse in her stone-cold face. He was shocked to find not only remorse but also an aching sadness in her eyes. At least his mother understood.

"Come, my son. We must beg the Dark Lord for mercy once more," She had grimaced. 

Elated in his victory, the Dark Lord had shown a rare spot of mercy for both Draco and his mother in reference to their assisting Potter during the battle. Draco supposed it didn't hurt that they were both skilled legillimens, and were able to mask their truly disloyal thoughts when he invaded their minds.

When they had gotten back to the manor, no longer echoing with Bellatrix's screams, Draco had simply trudged up the winding staircase to his bed and thrown himself into it. He didn't bother to take off his clothes, smudged with rubble and dirt and blood from the battle. He figured that it was fitting, that his pristine white sheets experience some of the destruction that the rest of the wizarding world had faced that day.

***

The next morning, Draco did not get up when the sun splayed across his bedsheets. Instead, he simply pulled the covers up higher, and thought about one of Potter's last act before his murder, saving Draco's life, when he could have simply done nothing.

Life debts were a serious thing in the Malfoy family, but Draco wasn't certain he wanted to carry on any more of his father's sick traditions. If it hadn't been for his mother's precarious position for the last two years, Draco would have been happy to simply escape the country and finish his schooling somewhere less well-known, maybe for potioneering. Nonetheless, Potter had saved his life, and now Draco would never get to repay him. That debt would be hanging over his head for the rest of his life.

Having returned to the sight of the battle on the Dark Lord's orders, Draco almost wished Potter had just let him die. That would have been easier than being ordered to investigate the school a few days after the battle to ensure that no survivors remained, seeing the dead bodies of so many students and teachers that Draco had known for years, left to rot and be eaten by animals.

He gagged as he and the other Death Eaters approached the courtyard and their footsteps sent a few crows flying. They had been gorging themselves on several bodies that lay strewn about the courtyard, already in a state of disarray. The stench was the worst part, so distinct and gut-churning. Rotting flesh, scorched by the summer sun.

The physical destruction of the school was also disheartening. There were walls collapsed everywhere, in some places there were whole rooms caved in. Hogwarts had truly fallen.

They did a quick sweep of the courtyard, then moved on to the great hall. When they pushed open the massive doors, Draco had to hold himself back from dry-heaving. The smell was worse here, as was the sight. The bodies were piled more thickly, some were halfway underneath white sheets for burial, while others lay where they had fallen.

Potter's body was the only one missing, the Dark Lord himself had crucio'd it several times, before blasting the body until nothing remained. Now there was simply a large, black scorch-mark where Potter had fallen.

Not wanting to spend too much time in the horrid-smelling room, their search was brief, they checked to make sure each body was truly dead. But when Draco reached the spot where he was almost certain that Granger had fallen, all he found was a pool of blood. His pulse spiked.

"Move on without me, I'm just going to make sure we got everyone," he muttered to his fellows, who didn't need to be told twice. None of them truly wanted to be here, for one reason or another.

Draco looked around the spot where her blood had been pooled and noticed a bit of blood spatter leading away from that area, over to where a few benches were clumped together. Draco thought he also saw some medical supplies on top of them, maybe this was where Madam Pomphry had been set up. He walked quietly over to the benches and gasped at what he saw.

There, slumped under a pile of scavenged clothes was a shivering Granger, very much alive, with blood caked all over her face, tangling her bushy hair.

"Granger," he breathed.

Before he could even blink, her wand was pointed directly under his nose, her fiery eyes trained on his. Draco held very still, knowing if he drew his own wand that he would be down before he even reached his pocket.

"You're not going to kill me, you vile creature. I'm making it out of here alive and I am going to kill him for what he did to Harry. I am going to kill him. So don't make me kill you to get there." The pain and determination in her voice were both surprising and terrifying. Draco knew she was entirely serious.

"I can help you," He murmured.

She narrowed her eyes. "Don't think that you are going to play me for a fool right now, Draco Malfoy. I have seen too many people die in the past week, including my best friend, to deal with your lies. Just get out of here, or I will be forced to obliviate you, and no promises I'd be gentle."

Draco shook his head, lowering his eyes. "Potter saved my life." He hesitated. "I... I owe him a debt. This is what he would want. Then I can move on and not have to worry about owing him." That wasn't the entire reason that he wanted to help her, he also couldn't stand to see another classmate killed, particularly not her. He flinched as the memory of her screams filled his ears, begging his aunt to leave her alone.

Granger's wand wavered, but only briefly. "How do I know you're really going to help me, and not just take me back to Vo- back to him."

He glared. "I swear to you Granger, I'm not going to do anything to endanger you. I really am prepared to help you."

Just then, footsteps echoed down the hall, and he knew someone was coming. They both froze, Granger's breaths came in repressed gasps. "I'll come back tonight to get you, decide if you're ready to trust me or not by then."

He scrambled away from her bench and began investigating a particularly uninteresting part of the wall. The rest of his group returned, reporting that they had swept the remainder of the castle and that they were now moving toward the grounds. Without glancing back to where he knew Granger lay under one of the benches, body taught and quivering, he set off to follow the others. Finding nothing more than practically scavenged bodies that they did nothing to cover, they departed not long after and reappeared in the foyer of Malfy Manor.

The Dark Lord was waiting for them.

He approached them all individually, examining their minds, poking and prodding as much as he desired until he was satisfied that they were telling the truth. When he arrived at Draco, Draco went through the reconstructed memory that he had created in place of seeing Granger. He kept her locked away in the deepest parts of his brain, putting up a wall of misery that was entirely truthful at the sight of so many bodies of so many children.

The Dark Lord's laugh chilled Draco's bones.

"You are right, Draco. It is a shame to see so much magical blood wasted. But never fear, we will rebuild."


	2. Bloody Hell

Seven months later, Draco hastily threw on some of his dress robes. He glanced at himself in the mirror and his brow creased. A shadow of his former self stared back, one with sunken cheeks, dark eyes, and wrinkled dress robes. The last seven months had been a constant hell of conquering England for the Dark Lord with no option for escape, all while hiding one of the two most wanted persons in the country in his home. With a flick of his wand, he eased the wrinkles out of his robes and stepped back. This was the best it was going to get. 

Draco had no other option after the war than to remain a Death Eater, permanently marked for servitude to a mass-murderer. No other country would accept him and his mother as fugitives, even if he brought Granger, plus he knew the Dark Lord was likely to catch them. There had been two attempted deserters in the lower ranks already, the Dark Lord had done unspeakable things to them before allowing Nagini to kill them days later. They had welcomed death. His Dark mark wriggled painfully on his arm as he thought about the raids he ran almost daily on muggle households, doing his best to avoid having to hurt anyone, but not entirely able to escape it with the loyal Death Eaters breathing down his back.

He tried not to think about the faces of the people he had tortured, instead trying to focus on his mother and Granger, who both relied on his compliance for their survival.

The least dismal part of running raids was when he was able to help people escape, an occasional occurrence. So far, he'd helped three people escape, one elderly couple who'd been hiding their half-blood granddaughter, and the older sister of a muggle-born. She happened to be the original owner of the hair Draco used to polyjuice Granger into her new persona.

Granger had barely warmed up to him in the months that they'd spent tucked away at his cottage on the beach. Disguising her as his wife had been his idea, one that she had almost refused, but after a few weeks of being cooped up in the attic, she had consented.

Draco found a French pureblood family that Draco knew his parents would accept and obliviated them, carefully reconstructing their memories. When he was through, they had a charming daughter named Camielle, who they adored. It didn't hurt that they looked very similar to the girl who he'd helped escape, either. When Granger had polyjuiced herself into the girl, she looked like she really did belong to the family. They had bright blonde hair that was only a few shades darker than Draco's, with powdery skin and prominent cheekbones, all traits that the girl shared. The only thing that was truly different between her and the couple he'd selected was that she was incredibly short, even shorter than Granger was normally, while the couple was both taller than Draco himself. It was always jarring to watch her shrink a few inches when she changed.

Draco had married Camielle Rousseau about three weeks after the battle of Hogwarts. Their parents had been present at the small ceremony. Well, his parents, and her fake parents. Granger had polyjuiced herself into the girl who's hair Draco brought her without question. She hadn't spoken to him once since they'd arrived at the cottage the first night, when she thanked him while he tended to her wounds. After they married, they officially moved into the cottage that Draco had been hiding Granger in since he found her. He had briefly thought at the time how oddly ironic it was that he was getting married right out of Hogwarts, as his parents had intended, to Granger, a muggle-born. While he doubted they would live to see a time without the Dark Lord ruling over their lives, he had wondered whether it would be difficult to annul the marriage, since she had been impersonating someone else.

The cottage where they stayed was just outside of Dover, on the English channel. Nestled into the cliffside, it had a breathtaking view of the channel, which Granger had taken to staring at for sometimes hours at a time. It had been in his family for generations, first used when his family had come to England from France, across the channel. The cottage itself was a bit worn down and very small compared to what Draco was used to, but it was a welcome change from the cold, Death-Eater-ridden manor. Its yellowish paint was peeling and dry, and the rose bushes in the front gutters had overgrown the entire front of the house, but it still held a certain charm.

From then on, they lived in the cottage semi-peacefully, mostly ignoring each other. Granger ignored him except to cast accusing looks when he came home with blood on his shoes. She only came down to eat, and sometimes to ask if he'd heard anything about the Weasly's, or anyone else who might start another rebellion against the Dark Lord. The rest of the time, she stayed up in the attic, which had a bed and a desk, but was mostly filled with old cobwebs when he'd given it to her.

About a month into her time there, Granger asked for books, any books that she could get her hands on. Draco had offered the few books that he brought with him from the manor, and though he suspected she tried to take her time with them, she devoured all four in only a week. He wondered if it was out of habit, or as a coping mechanism. After she accepted Draco's offer to hide her, she'd spent nearly four days in the attic without talking to him, but he could hear her sobs. Thin floors, he supposed. After those days had passed, she replaced her pain with a hunger for information, using her time to develop a way to contact the remnants of the order. Granger looked almost insane when he came up to drop off dinner on occasion, books sprawled out in all directions surrounding her little spot on the floor, her wild hair barely held back by a few pins. She would scan some part of the books, jot something down on a pad of paper in her hand, then go back to whispering to herself as she scanned for more information. She wouldn't even look up when Draco set the plate on the outside of her circle, but she always brought the plate down empty in the morning.

If anyone was going to figure out a way to secretly communicate and get the Order back together, Draco knew it would be Granger.

As the son and lady of the Malfoys, they were expected to come to an occasional event at the manor. Today's would be the largest by far, the annual Malfoy Christmas Ball. There would be "social elites" and Death Eaters galore, acting as though half of the people in the room weren't participating in a literal genocide while the rest did nothing to stop it, electing to stand about and partying.

Granger had a panic attack at the first event when they had approached, and Draco had needed to apparate them both somewhere else on the grounds while she got herself together. He still cringed when he remembered the way she sunk in on herself as she breathed heavily and simply starred at a tree next to her for nearly half an hour. He had felt so useless, especially knowing that he should have intervened, should have done something when she had been tortured in his home. It was the most emotion she'd shown to him directly since the day he found her and she threatened to kill him.

Above him, Draco could hear heels clacking down the stairs. Training Granger to act as though she'd been in an elite social-circle her entire life had been difficult, but not impossible. She was intuitive and easy to train when she wanted to learn. She had questioned and complained about every custom and comment he mentioned at first, but eventually, her protests faded into somber remarks about the misogyny of the upper class.

Granger knocked on his door before opening it and poking her head in warily.

"Are you quite finished? We're meant to be there in a few minutes," He caught the scent of her perfume as it wafted into the room, the kind he'd picked and encouraged her to wear.

Draco nodded and looked himself up and down in the mirror one final time. He adjusted his emerald cufflinks. This would have to do. Granger had donned a silvery floor-length gown, sensible, yet elegant. It hugged her body too snugly because she hadn't transformed into Camielle yet, and Draco kept his eyes on her face. He hadn't the energy to tease and leer these days.

They walked out into the living room, where a fire was crackling, to check whether they had everything they needed. Granger eyes his shoes and chewed on her lip, looking very much like she had something she wanted to say.

He narrowed his eyes. "Well, spit it out,"

She sighed. "What's the point of this, Malfoy? I'm sick of playing house for the sake of your reputation. I need to find Ron and begin planning how we are going to avenge Harry. I've been dormant for long enough, hiding out here like some sort of coward. I don't even know if my parents ever made it to A-" she suddenly snapped her mouth closed, eyes wide.

This had happened a few times, where she brought up her parents and then quickly cut herself off. He figured that she had sent them somewhere before the war, and she had still yet to tell Draco where, likely out of fear that he would tell the rest of the Death Eaters where to find them. He was frustrated that she still didn't trust him after hiding her for months, but the sound of her screams echoing through the manor usually capped that frusteration. The Death Eaters had been hunting down the families of muggle-born children since the fall of Hogwarts. Draco's stomach flopped at the thought of finding Granger's parents, what he would be ordered to do to them.

"Granger, are you daft? We've been over this. I'll tell you if I hear anything about the Weasel nest. Until then, we need to keep hiding you. And that's a lot easier when no one suspects that I'm hiding Hermione Granger in my house. So we have to keep acting like everything is normal."

She screwed her face up in frustration, her bushy curls swinging as she shook her head. She still hadn't transformed, and he saw the same signs of weariness in her as he did when he looked at himself in the mirror. The sagging cheeks and dark circles, the permanent worry lines.

"I'm sick of this."

Draco was beginning to lose his patience. "Well, would you prefer to find your own accommodations?" He sneered "You know what the Dark Lord is doing right now, hunting down every muggle-born, half-blood and their families. I know you were able to hide for a few months before, with Potter, but how long will you last now?" He was getting tired of having this conversation with her every time they needed to go to an event.

Granger's eyes flashed, sharp and hot. "I am not dependant on you for my safety, Malfoy. I could survive for months, even years on my own if I wanted to. And everyone thinks I'm dead, anyway,"

"Ah, but you won't leave. You realize I am a valuable information source and you haven't decided that's worth leaving yet. So be a dear and transform into my fake wife and we will be on our way," he snapped. Draco didn't expect a thank-you for hiding her after everything that he and his family had put him through, but he detested the way that she treated him as if he enjoyed this awful life of hunting people. As if he'd had a choice.

She didn't give him another glance before downing a sip of her potion and taking a few haggard breaths as she transformed into Camielle. She started breathing more heavily, which he had recently figured out was her substitute for crying out, and her body began to bubble. She shrank a few inches, her bushy hair became sleeker and lightened until it was nearly the same color as his. Now, she filled out the dress a little better and her face was pinched into a pout. He caught her eye and scoffed at the glare she landed on him.

"Darling," she breathed pleasantly, continuing to glare. She reached out and grabbed his arm so that he could apparate them into the grounds of the manor.

Draco huffed and turned on the spot.

One horrible, squelching moment later, they landed with a thud on the front walkway of Malfoy Manor. Granger's grip tightened imperceptibly on his arm as they began to saunter forward, up the path, which had been cleared of snow. Their footsteps echoed off of the nearby walls, her heels especially so.

The manor was grand, even from the outside. Snow covered the ground and the roof, but not so deep as to be alarming. Candles floated inside the ballroom, visible through the open doors. They could hear an orchestra through the doors as well, tinkling and light. They followed a few paces behind another group who had apparated in just before them and walked up the staircase. Draco suspected it was one of the older couples who only came out for big events based on the look of them.

Once inside the ballroom, Draco inspected the crowd. Death Eaters were everywhere, and a few prominent international guests were noticeably missing. Near the impossibly tall Christmas tree, which sparkled with everlasting candles, the Carrows were chatting and sharing drinks with Avery. His father was entertaining Goyle and Nott Senior, while Jugson and what looked like his wife and children lingered nearby. Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange, both looking like they had never attended a high-class event, noticed Drago and Granger first. The men made to walk over and greet them and Draco schooled his face into a mask of indifference as they approached.

"Young Malfoy, a pleasure," Rudolphus stuck out his grimy hand to Draco, face red with alcohol consumption. "And who is this pretty little thing you've brought us?" He leered at Granger.

Looking like she was about whip out her wand and curse the man to bits, Granger extended her hand to be kissed. "I am Camielle Malfoy, sir,"

He and Rabastan laughed, turning back to Draco. He wrinkled his nose, their breath stank of Firewhisky. "Quite a specimen she is, little Malfoy. Perhaps you'd be interested in sharing her some time," Rudolphus joked.

Granger made a noise somewhere between a hiss and a growl.

Draco tightened his grip on her arm, a warning not to react. "I'm afraid she's not available, gentlemen." He nodded curtly. "Please excuse us, I believe my mother is waiting,"

"What gentlemen," Granger grumbled as they walked in the direction of his mother. "I'm sure your father would love if you'd act more gentlemanly,"

"Hush," He hissed back.

Narcissa was standing near one of the dining tables, which were laden with extravagant food, exchanging words with a few other pureblood ladies when he and Granger approached. Her eyebrows arched in what Draco deciphered as disapproval as she noticed Granger's gown, and Draco rolled his eyes. It was just one little slit, after all.

"Draco," she greeted coolly, eyes glittering. "Camielle."

"Mother," he accepted her extended hand a placed a quick peck on top. "What a fine evening," He avoided any comments about how everyone outside of England was too terrified to bring themselves here even for a large event like this ball.

Narcissa nodded her head, reaching forward to gesture for Granger to join the conversation she'd been having with the other ladies. Draco's grip tightened briefly on Granger's arm again before he relinquished her into his mother's circle. They don't know, he told himself. They don't know who she is.

"Draco, I believe your father wanted to see you. Go along to the wine cellar and he'll meet you down there as soon as he's done entertaining our guests. We will keep Camielle company," her voice was honey-sweet, laced with a darker edge. His gut tightened.

Draco reached a hand out to briefly grasp Ganger's. "I'll be back soon, darling." They hadn't ever been separated at one of the events yet, and while they had discussed it, he felt conflicted at leaving her here.

He backed away as the ladies circled around Granger, cooing about her gown while Narcissa glowered. Draco scanned the room again, attempting to catch the familiar glare of his father's bright hair, but he wasn't standing where he had been when Draco and Granger had entered. Music passed deftly over his ears as Draco poked his way through the thickening crowd until he reached the end of the ballroom, where there was a hallway that would lead down to the wine cellar. A few people stopped him to give brief greetings, but he didn't give much more than a nod back in most cases. He'd never been known as outspoken at his parent's events, and now that he was a Death Eater people were either too afraid to speak with him, or Death Eater's themselves.

When he crossed the threshold into the hallway, the chatter and music of the ballroom fell away, and the achingly familiar dreariness of the manor settled over him. The hall was lit by witchlight every few feet that resembled torches. The wine cellar, at the end of the hallway, was behind a huge iron and wood door. He muttered the spell he'd known since he was 14 to get into the cellar, and the door swung open.

Draco shuffled inside, sweeping his dress robes away from his feet, and came to an abrupt halt when he realized it was not his father inside the cellar, but the Dark Lord himself.

Fear gripping his body, Draco instantly focused all of his attention on the conflicting feelings he had surrounding his mother. He thought about how desperately he wanted to protect her, how he would continue to serve the Dark Lord as long as his mother was safe. He let a few impressions about wanting to protect Camielle slip in to be safe, but he kept them as contained as he could, lest the Dark Lord tried to press his thoughts about his wife.

"Draco," the other wizard whispered.

"My Lord," Draco bent his head submissively, concentrating on the image of his mother's face.

The Dark Lord took two sweeping steps forward, his smokey robes fanning out around his feet. He placed a single boney hand on Draco's shoulder, and it took all of Draco's willpower not to squirm out of his grasp.

"I'm sure you've heard the rumors, Draco," the Dark Lord rasped.

"The rumors, my Lord?"

"Rumors..." the Dark Lord trailed off. "That the mudblood Hermione Granger survived the Battle of Hogwarts."

Draco froze, shock ripping through him. The shock crippled his mental defenses, but he kept the images of Granger, safe in his cottage, as far in as possible.

"My Lord, I had heard no such rumors," That was the truth. "Of course, I would tell you if I'd ever heard such rumors." That wasn't.

The Dark Lord reached down to grab Draco's chin, forcing Draco to meet his eye. A splitting pain hit Draco between the eyes, he knew the Dark Lord was prying through his mind now, trying to find Draco's lies.

He clung as hard as he could to the fear and worry about his mother, almost delusionally. He wouldn't let himself think of anything else, even for a moment. He couldn't afford to let himself break. The Dark Lord riffled through the memories that Draco wasn't hiding faster than he could blink, but that didn't make the pain any better. His forehead felt as though it was splitting open.

Suddenly, the Dark Lord stopped on an image of Camielle that Draco hadn't been focused on. It was from a few weeks ago, just after they had gotten back from an even there at the manor. She had been standing in front of the crackling fireplace of their cottage, simply standing there, thinking. Draco hadn't even thought to hide it.

But the Dark Lord pressed on, searching for more memories related to Camielle. Draco fought off the panic that was setting in, ignoring the pain that was spreading throughout his body. He focused on the images of her from today, just before he had let her go with his mother, gripping her arm just the slightest bit tighter before he let her go. That was a normal thing to feel, wasn't it? Not wanting to let go of one's wife?

Draco was unraveling.

His mind was inches away from cracking when the Dark Lord released him, and Draco crumpled to the ground. His brain was so sluggish, he could barely register anything except the cold of the cobblestones beneath him.

"Get up," the Dark Lord sneered, toeing Draco's face.

He launched himself away from the Dark Lord's bare foot, standing woozily.

"Do not forget the kindness I have extended to your family, Draco. I expect you to investigate these rumors about the mudblood."

Draco's stomach dropped. "Of course, my Lord."

Without another word, the Dark Lord apparated out of the room, casting Draco against one wine-covered wall. The bottles rattled, but none broke. He slid down the wall, cringing.

Draco rubbed his eyes. Why were there rumors about Granger being alive? He had been there when they ran the sweep of Hogwarts, and none of the other Death Eater's had shown a particular interest in finding her body. So who had figured out that she was alive now, almost 7 months later? Draco's head was spinning. His eyes were drooping closed wearily when he heard several shrieks coming from the ballroom.

He instantly stood upright and bolted out of the room, racing down the hall until he reached the ballroom. Where was Granger? Had he shown the Dark Lord too much? Was their ruse ruined?

The ballroom was a mess when he burst inside, Death Eaters and civilians alike were in various states of disarray. It looked like everyone was avoiding the center of the room, but Draco saw nothing there. Finally, his eyes landed on his mother and Granger, who still stood by the tables.

Draco pushed through the crowd much less gently this time until he reached his mother and Granger. His mother reached out to grab his hands as he approached, true concern showing in her eyes. Granger stayed where she was, but she looked even more shaken than his mother. The room was beginning to buzz with discussion as everyone turned to the next to speculate the meaning of what had just occurred.

"Oh Draco, there you are. Did you see the patronus?" His mother asked.

He cocked his head. "What patronus?" Could anyone here even cast one? Draco sullenly recalled having limited success the few times he'd tried to cast the spell.

"Yes, it was a dog, it sounded familiar." His mother lowered her voice. "Someone young, your age maybe,"

"What did it say?"


	3. Mudblood

Draco's mother shook her head, confused, before repeating what she'd heard the patronus say. '"...and I knew it was going to take me where I needed to go.'" She quoted.

Granger locked eyes with him. Even polyjuiced, he could tell what she was trying to say. She recognized either the speaker or what they'd said, possibly even the Patronus.

His mother's delicate brow creased. "The message was clearly from the Order or some other resistance group. But who was it intended for? The meaning is unclear, it's not a threat." She pondered for another moment.

Draco edged out of Narcissa's grasp and reached out to Granger. "Mother, I think Camielle and I should be getting home. I don't want her to be here if the Order comes knocking."

His mother perked up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Before you go, I've been meaning to ask. Is Camielle with child?"

Draco balked, his stomach dropping. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Granger flinch. "No, mother." He managed. "Why would you think she'd with child?"

"Well, you two have been married six months now. You know, I was pregnant with you only two months after your father and I got married. And you two spend an awful lot of time in that cottage of yours," Narcissa raised her eyebrows.

Draco blurted the first excuse that came to mind. "Mother, I'm still running missions almost daily. I don't want to begin having children until I can be present, for Camielle and the baby." This wasn't entirely a lie, Draco hadn't thought about the topic of children often, but he knew that he could never consider it while he was working under the Dark Lord.

Narcissa glanced at Granger as if to see her reaction. "Well, I suppose that's that. Perhaps once the Dark Lord has conquered the continent, you and Lucius will be allowed to retire to your wives..." she trailed off, eyes dark. Draco knew that she detested Draco being a Death Eater, but nothing could be done to remedy that now.

Suddenly, a splitting pain cut through his head, and his hands began to tremble. He flinched, reaching a trembling hand up to press against his forehead. It was probably a remnant of the pain left over from the Dark Lord picking through his mind, he told himself. Nothing more.

He felt a pair of cool hands pressing either side of his head. Draco opened his eyes to find Granger, in the form of Camielle, standing in front of him, whispering an incantation. The pain in his head lessened, then fell off completely. Sighing in relief, he glanced at his mother. She looked appalled, her regal features crinkled up into anguish. She likely recognized the symptoms, it wasn't as if he'd never experienced them before, just not this severely.

Clasping Granger's hand a little firmer, Draco said a quick goodbye to his mother, avoiding her concerned stare, and made to exit the ballroom.

The second they apparated away from the grounds and landed squarely in their living room, Granger was already talking.

"It was Ron!" She exclaimed.

Draco sniffed, removing his outer robes and placing them on the coatrack by the door. He approached the couch as Granger continued on, forgetting to take off her evening wrap.

"Ron's Patronus is a Jack Russel Terrier! I saw it on the day that Harry taught us to cast Patronuses. And the voice, it was doubtlessly Ron's. But how did he know I was going to be there? And why did he say that? '...and I knew it was going to take me where I needed to go.'"

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Granger, he's clearly trying to send some sort of message. Did he say that ever before? Did someone else?" 

She glared, her eyes reflecting firelight as she paced in front of the couch. It was a bit disorienting to see her glare on Camielle's face, though it had become a common occurrence. "I can't just call up every conversation I've ever had with him, Malfoy. I need more time to think about it. It must have been somewhere no one else would know about, so I suspect the Forrest of-" She cut herself off, eyes flying wide open.

"I do remember when he said that! It was just after he returned with Harry and the Sword of Gryffindor. He was explaining how he found us again." Granger reached into her pocket and pulled out her wand. "I know where to go."

Draco realized what she was about to do seconds before she apparated, and ripped her wand out of her hand.

"Malfoy" She growled, reaching out her open palm. "What in the hell do you think you're doing? Give me my wand. Now."

But Draco held it firmly, despite her attempts to rip the wand from his grasp. "Granger, what are you thinking. You can't just go apparating into the forest in the middle of the night. We will go tomorrow evening after I return from my mission," He said, decisively.

Granger narrowed her eyes. "You listen closely to me, Draco Malfoy." Her voice was venomous. "You are in no way responsible for me or my actions. You certainly don't get to tell me what to do. So give me my wand now, before I attempt non-verbal magic and accidentally blow you up."

Draco shook his head, pocketing her wand.

"Granger, have you considered that it could be a trap?"

Her brow creased and she opened her mouth to respond, but her skin began to bubble. They had been so caught up in arguing that neither of them had realized that her polyjuice was wearing off. She began to transform into herself, shrinking a few inches so that she no longer towered above him where he sat, her hair grew darker and less sleek, and her eyes flashed brown instead of grey.

When the transformation was finished, a very angry-looking, bushy-haired brunette stood before him in a gown that didn't fit. Draco was almost tempted to laugh.

She took a calming breath, then sat on the other end of the couch, pushing the gown carelessly out of her way.

"Do you think it is a trap?"

He paused, considering how much of his encounter with the Dark Lord he wanted to tell her about.

"When I left to meet my father, I didn't see him," He admitted. The fire crackled ominously. "The Dark Lord was waiting for me. He wanted to ask me," His voice cracked. "He wanted to ask me what I knew about rumors that you are alive."

Granger froze, hands clenched in her lap. Not for the first time, he could see fear dancing in her eyes, horror even.

Impulsively, he reached out to grab her arm. "Granger, it's alright. He doesn't know anything concrete, he just suspects. If he knew you were alive, we would already be looking for you." He gestured to himself. "And I don't think he got anything from me."

"You don't think?"

He dropped his eyes to his lap. "I'm pretty sure he didn't see anything about you."

Granger ripped her arm from his grasp, scooting away. He was surprised she'd stayed still as long as she had. "So that really could be a trap. But how would he mimic someone else's Patronus like that? Is it even possible? Who else know's that I'm still alive? How would they know that I'm here? What-"

Draco cut her off. "Granger, please. If the Dark Lord even thought I was keeping you alive, he would have simply killed me then and there. And you. Well, maybe you'd be kept alive to bait more Order members. But eventually, you'd be killed."

She crossed her arms tightly over her chest and stood. She paced for a few times before coming to a standstill. "I...I need some tea." She kicked her gown out of the way and moved toward the kitchen, tripping on the hem a few steps later.

He stood to help her prepare the tea, trying to figure out how the Dark Lord could have figured out that Granger did in fact survive the Battle of Hogwarts. Had someone else seen her alive before he had? He someone seen her here? The panic was only beginning to set in when another bought of splitting pain cut through his head.

Draco cried out and lost his balance, falling against the couch. Granger was beside him in a moment, pressing her hands to his head.

She began to whisper the same incantation she'd used before, but the pain only reduced slightly. He was seeing black dots across his vision.

"Why isn't it working," Granger growled to herself.

She removed her hands and ran to one of the kitchen cabinets, where Draco kept many of his healing potions and salves. Draco's vision was fading in and out as he listened to her rustle around. He slid further down the couch, onto the ground, his head tipped back. The fire cast oddly shaped shadows across the ceiling and Draco imagined the same shadows running through his brain, stabbing at every place they could find.

Granger threw a pair of bottles onto the coffee table and knelt before him. She held the first one up to his mouth and forced him to allow the dark liquid down his throat. Through his delirium, he swallowed the nasty stuff, ignoring the biting favor. Then, she grabbed a salve and swiped two fingers through the cream, rubbed her hands together, and brought them toward Draco's head again. The pain lessened slowly at first, then more quickly. Finally, Draco slumped back, completely devoid of pain. Granger rubbed the salve in for another few seconds before withdrawing her hands and wiping them on her gown.

Draco reached one hand up to press against his eyes.

"This is from him, isn't it," She asked venomously.

Draco chuckled humourlessly. "I suppose it's from both of us. The brain is not meant to be subjected to two wills, Granger, especially not as much as he subjects my brain to his. When one fights against being cast upon and maintains their will, the brain is torn in two directions. Mine is likely recovering from being split."

She grabbed the bottles and returned them to the cabinet, depositing her tea into Draco's hands. He tried to protest, but she ignored him and set about preparing another cup.

Granger was silent for a few minutes as she paced in the kitchen, and Draco thought of nothing, simply watching the fire in front of him, occasionally sipping his tea. She soon returned with another cup in her hands, sitting back in her spot on the couch.

"The salve needs to be reapplied every few hours, and you'll need to drink that potion again tomorrow night." She said after a few moments of silence.

He nodded gratefully.

"I'll be going into the forest alone tomorrow. You can't afford the extra strain."

Draco sat up sharply, ignoring both a bolt of fear going through his stomach and a bolt of pain going through his head. "Granger, you cannot go alone. I have not been hiding you for 7 months only for you to get kidnapped at the first moment you hear Weasly's voice."

She turned her gaze toward the fire, it's orangey glow making her hair gold. Her pulse jumped in her throat, he could see one vein stand out.

"You aren't well enough to handle more strain," She muttered. "...and I need to go as soon as possible. I won't go tonight in case you have another episode, but I cannot simply sit here if there is even a chance that the Order truly is still somewhat intact and reaching out for me."

He felt the strange impulse to reach out and simply hold her to the couch so that she would stop trying to run off to the forest and possibly get killed. Draco shook that thought off instantly, disgusted.

"I've never had the episodes last more than a day Granger, I'll be fine by tomorrow."

She turned his face back toward him, stubbornly setting her jaw. "I don't want you to get worse for my sake."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't be getting worse for your sake, you're not the only one who would benefit from contacting the Order, you know." This wasn't entirely true, he would go with her even if there was no potential benefit for him.

Granger closed her eyes, pressing a hand to her forehead. "Malfoy, if this really is a trap, I don't want you to get hurt on my behalf."

He cocked his head.

"If this really is a trap, you're going to need all the help you can get," He leaned forward. "Granger, I've had a lot of time to think since the Battle. I know that I can't the rest of my life serving the Dark Lords as he kills thousands of people and not do anything to stop it. I can't sit back any longer. I..." He faltered, Adam's apple bobbing. "I won't be like my father."

She opened her eyes and peered at him with a look akin to understanding.

"I'm going with you tomorrow. I should be back before 7."

Finally, Granger nodded. He breathed a sigh of relief that he didn't know he'd been holding and sat back. They were going to the Forrest of Dean tomorrow night.

Suddenly, Granger leaned across the couch and snatched her wand from his pocket.

"If you ever touch my wand again, Malfoy, I can promise that I will personally kick your arse."

He lazy smirk wound its way around his face. "Without your wand?" He teased. "How?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Have you already forgotten the time I punched you in the face?"

Draco raised his hands in surrender. "I certainly have not, that bloody hurt."

"Well, you were being an arse. Making fun of Buckbeak's execution,"

"That bird attacked me! I still have the scar," He pulled his dress robes back to reveal the thin white lines across the back of one arm.

Granger laughed. "Again, you incurred that on yourself. Hagrid explained that they are very proud creatures and you offended him."

"Aren't you the one who suggested I be brought to the hospital wing?"

She paused. "Yes? And what about it?"

Draco leaned in further. "I don't you'd really kick my arse, clearly you care about my health, despite the time when you socked me in the nose. You suggested I go to the hospital wing then, you helped me just now, and you've patched me up twice in the last 7 months. So no, I don't think you're truly going to hurt me, with or without your wand."

From this distance, he could see the fire reflected in the corner of Granger's eyes as they locked gazes.

"I can prove that I would win,"

He chuckled. "How are you going to prove that?"

She stuck her hand out over the middle of the couch, a rare smile covering her face. "Thumb wrestle."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "What sort of muggle practice is a 'thumb wrestle'? Not too sexual, I hope?" He winked.

Granger slapped him in the shoulder, scandalized. The pink tinge of her cheeks made it worth it.

She reached out and grabbed his opposite hand as if they were going to shake hello, but then curled her fingers around his, thumb sides up.

"Now, you try to pin my thumb down, and I'll try to pin yours," Granger demonstrated, her thumb reaching forward to press his down onto their folded hands. "On the count of three,"

"One," Her thumb stood at attention, and he hastily moved his to emulate her.

"Two," They locked eyes over their folded hands, and Draco realized that he was sort of holding hands with Granger.

"Three,"

She made the first move, lunging her thumb forward in an attempt to pin his. Draco laughed, dodging easily and attempting the same move back. However, she had been anticipating this and maneuvered her thumb atop his in a quick flick. She held his thumb for a few moments, securing her victory. She was smiling, he realized. Was this the first time he'd seen her smile since she'd been here? She used to smile all the time back in school, amongst her precious boys. 

Granger released his hand and leaned back. "There, proven in a battle of strength, I would win in a fight."

He threw up his hands. "With a game that you likely just invented! I have never played such a game before. Besides, it wouldn't be a fight, because I would never hit you."

She rolled her eyes. "Maybe now you wouldn't hit me considering we live together and you saved my life to pay off a debt, but you can't tell me that you had never considered getting me back for when I punched you."

Draco frowned, his good humor lost. "Do you really think I would have hit you?"

Granger noticed his mood change and pulled her knees up, crossing her arms around them. "Well, you weren't exactly kind to me back then, Malfoy."

He dropped his eyes to his lap, where his hands were tied in uncomfortable knots. "I would never have hit you," He whispered. Shame coursed through him at the thought of the things he'd said and done to her, the things she thought he would have done to her, making his shoulders burn. He flashed back to the families he had seen tortured, and grimaced further.

Draco looked up again, meeting her eyes through his shame. "Granger..." He drew in a breath. "I am truly sorry for the way I treated you. There's certainly a thousand excuses I could blame it on, such as my upbringing, but none of them are valid reasons to have said and done what I have."

He wasn't sure he'd ever seen Granger look this shocked. Her mouth hung ever-so-slightly open, and her eyes were wide.

She didn't respond immediately. "I appreciate your apology, Malfoy. Honestly, I never even thought I'd get one. But I'm not sure I'm ready to forgive you," She bit her lip again, running her fingers along something on her inner-arm.

Draco's stomach dropped when he remembered what was on that arm.

He reached forward before he knew what he was doing, and grabbed her arm gently. "I can heal it."

Now he was offering to heal her scar, after apologizing? What was wrong with him. He was a Malfoy.

Granger creased her brow, flinching back with her arm. "I," She took a deep breath. "I'm not sure I want you to."

He ran his thumb over the scar tissue, remembering every time he had uttered the word carved into her skin. He heard her screams in his ears, pictured her there, writhing in the floor, her blood pooling up underneath her. It had never been dirty, and that day proved it if nothing else.

"I'm sorry," He whispered, eyes downcast. He had never meant the words more.

Draco froze as she placed her warm hand over his, her expression solemn. Their eyes met once again. In hers, he could see pain, but more so, he saw and overarching weariness. They were both just children, really.

"This reminds me of what I'm fighting against." She murmured.

His eyes flashed down to her lips, then back to her eyes. The fire highlighted the golden specks in her eyes, making them shine brilliantly.

Suddenly, Draco realized that he had been leaning further and further toward Granger, and broke eye contact, pulling his hand out from underneath hers and scooting back.

She too seemed to realize how close they had been as well and stood.

"I should probably get some sleep," Granger muttered, hitting the back of her knee against the coffee table. She cursed under her breath, blaming the dress.

He met her gaze one more time. "Goodnight, Granger,"

She did not flinch away. "Goodnight, Draco,"

Draco's heart skipped. Had she called him by his first name? She was walking away before he could say something else, which might have been a good thing considering he had no idea what to say. Draco supposed it was reasonable to call each other by their first names, they'd been living together for months, known each other for years.

But why did this feel so oddly intimate? He settled among the couch cushions and replayed the conversation in his mind.

Draco fell asleep in his dress clothes that night, likely wrinkling them beyond repair, curled up on the couch. It wasn't until the morning that he would find a blanket mysteriously laid across him. How odd.


	4. Letting Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco explores the abandoned Burrow and his unpacked emotional baggage-  
> Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this chapter took so long to post! Fall quarter really kicked my butt and it's hard to write when I'm exhausted. But I still have a few weeks of break left, so I should have another chapter up soon!

Draco awoke with a start the next morning, his Dark Mark seering painfully. He sat up, roughly pulling back his sleeve to see the mark burning inky black. The Dark Lord was summoning them for a mission. 

He hastily threw back the blanket that somehow appeared over him last night, possibly Granger’s doing, and yanked open his bedroom door. In his closet, his Death Eater robes hung in front of the rest of his clothing, his mask tied securely around the hanger.

As soon as Draco yanked those robes over last night's dress robes and threw on his mask, he took a deep breath and apparated to where the Dark Lord had summoned them.  
When he landed, Draco looked around. The Dark Lord stood in front of him, and Draco instantly bowed his head in respect. After the Dark Lord turned away, he looked around to see who else had been assigned to this mission and to figure out where they were. On one side, he recognized the masks of his father and Greg Goyle. On the other side stood Walden Macnair. With a jolt, Draco remembered one of the first times he had seen Macnair, at the intended execution of Buckbeak, the very day that Granger had punched him in the face. It was disorienting to think of Granger in the middle of a group of Death Eaters, an overlap between his two lives.

In front of them, a tall house loomed, sinking slightly under the weight of the snow atop it. Only, it wasn’t quite a house. It was a house at the base, certainly, but with many more rooms stacked on top of it, looking not the least bit stable. 

His stomach sank in horror as Draco realized where they were, based on recounts he had heard from others.  
The Burrow. The former home of the Weasly family. 

The Dark Lord turned around before Draco could look more closely at the house, and he returned his gaze to the ground, breathing hard through his mask. He could see his breath in the stale air. 

“Find evidence as to the current whereabouts of these blood traitors, or don’t bother coming back.” The Dark Lord hissed. 

The group of Death Eaters mumbled an affirmation, then the Dark Lord disapparated. 

How was Draco going to find evidence as to where Ron and the others had gone? He knew that he couldn’t afford to turn any evidence of the Weasley's whereabouts over to the Dark Lord considering his and Granger’s plans tonight, but would he be able to withstand the weight of another Legillimens? His mind was already fraying.  
Lucius was the first to step forward, followed by Macnair. He and Greg fell into step behind them, but they did not speak as they crunched through the snow prints of the older men. 

Draco briefly wondered what Granger was up to right now. Was she up yet? It was still early morning, she might be curled up in her pile of blankets in the attic in a patch of sun, or she might be frantically planning their trip to the forest, surrounded by a pile of books. Draco suspected the latter.  
As their group approached the house, Draco abandoned all thoughts of Granger. 

Like many of the houses they had been sent to explore, this one had clearly been abandoned for months, the overbearing feeling of desolation was palpable. Though there was no physical destruction to the furniture or structure of the home, most everything was covered in undisturbed dust and bugs. 

In the kitchen, dishes still sat in the sink and along the counter, abandoned in their haste to leave. The scent of rotted food permeated the first floor, so thick it made his eyes water. 

Draco could barely picture the Weasley’s that his father had always complained about and that Granger had briefly described, in this decayed space. Surely there were far too many of them to fit at this dining table, particularly with the amount of company they were rumored to have. 

On one side of the living room, there was a tall grandfather clock. But as Draco approached, he realized that the face was off somehow. Instead of numbers, there were little bits of script written at the hand positions. School, Home, Dentist...Prison? All of the positions were clearly unused since every hand of the clock was facing one specific position. Lost. Each of the Weasley’s faces stared up at him from Lost, he wasn’t sure if there was a distinction between dead and in an unknown place.  
Draco’s eye caught on the twins’ faces, both grinning up at the camera mischievously. He remembered the sight of one of their bodies in the Great Hall, Granger later informed him that it had been Fred. Though he had never been friends with either of them, he looked forward to their yearly pranks. What had become of George since his twins’ death? 

His father’s sneer drew Draco’s attention to the center of the room, where the man stood. 

“Filthy blood traitors. I can see why they abandoned this disgusting mess of a home.” 

Macnair snorted in agreement, and Greg did not reply. He picked his way across the living room to stand beside Draco, looking at the clock. Was he remembering how Ron had saved his life when Potter had saved Draco’s? 

They spread out after a few more minutes, it was every man for himself when it came to finding evidence. Draco found the stairs and made his way up to each bedroom before he located the one he was certain to belong to Ron, with Chudley Cannons memorabilia littering the walls. 

It was obvious Ron had been gone long before the Battle of Hogwarts. There were only a few robes and items of muggle clothing in the broken-down dresser, and what sports magazines and newspapers that Draco found were all from two years prior. Above the wardrobe, Draco noticed an old picture of the trio. 

Granger was in the middle, beaming at the camera with her crooked teeth. This must have been before he cursed her, then. On her right side was Weasley, looking at the photographer, his bright hair glinting in the sunlight. To her left was Potter, in full quidditch gear. It was a bit jolting to see a photo of his deceased rival, Draco hadn’t seen any photos of Potter since his death. 

The three of them were so happy, so content. Together. 

Without thinking too much about it, Draco grabbed the photo off the wall and slipped it into one of the deep pockets of his robes. 

He continued to scan the room for something he could use to track Weasley, pawing through a few drawers when his hands brushed something warm. 

Reaching past the clothes, Draco pulled out a small coin. It looked like a galleon, and the warmth was quickly fading from it. Inspecting the edges, Draco realized that this was very likely one of the coins from the group he had helped Umbridge break up, Dumbledore’s Army. The numbers at the edge of the coin were meant to reflect the time and place of a new meeting. 

They couldn’t actually still be using these, could they? That would be incredibly dangerous, knowing that Ron’s could easily be found. Granger’s was missing too, very possible in the hands of another Death Eater. 

Could it be a trap set for the Dark Lord’s forces? That was possible. 

Pocketing the coin, Draco decided to offer this to the Dark Lord. This way, the Dark Lord wouldn’t be suspicious of him while he actually met with Ron later. And if they really were having meetings, these numbers would only tell the date, not the place. This was the best plan, he decided. 

Taking a deep breath, Draco drew up his sleeve to reveal the glistening mark that writhed on his skin. Disgusted, he looked away as he pressed the tip of his wand to the Mark, and willed the Dark Lord to call him to a meeting place. It was only another second before his Mark burned, and he disapparated. 

When he stood again, Draco found himself inside the foyer of the Manor. The Dark Lord stood in the corner, near where the fire raged. 

“Draco,” The Dark Lord whispered. “What did you find?” 

Before Draco could even speak, the Dark Lord raised his wand and summoned the coin from Draco’s pocket. 

“A galleon? Do you think I’m a fool?” His Lord snarled. 

Draco bowed his head, letting his platinum hair fall over his eyes. “No, my Lord. Not just any galleon. I believe the Order is using these to communicate when their next meeting is. Potter used to use these to run meetings with his little followers before we broke them up. The numbers around the edge change to reflect the date of the next meeting. I found this one in the Weasly house, it glowed warm to the touch and the numbers changed just as I picked it up.” 

The Dark Lord didn’t respond for a long time as he examined the coin, turning it over in his hands. 

“I suppose you’ve proven yourself useful, young Malfoy,” Draco breathed a sigh of relief. “However, I have a final question.” 

“My Lord?” 

The Dark Lord was across the room in a second, standing only inches away from Draco. “Who created these?” He held the coin in front of Draco’s nose. 

Taking care not to react, Draco responded. “It was Granger, my Lord. Granger made them.” 

If the Dark Lord had eyebrows, he would have been raising one of them. “The mudblood. How interesting. It seems even in death, she continues to defy her own nature. It’s a pity that such magical talent was wasted on one so dirty.” 

Draco stiffened imperceptibly. 

There was a beat of silence before the Dark Lord spoke again. 

“You may leave,” 

Draco didn’t hesitate, he apparated to the cottage the second the Dark Lord had finished speaking. 

Granger let out a startled squeak when he apparated into the living room, panting. From the couch, she glanced at the clock before speaking.  
“You’re here early,” 

He sighed, taking off his Death Eater robes and tossing them onto the bed in his room, before popping the mask on top of the pile. Not bothering to change out of yesterday’s evening attire, he sat down on the couch across from Granger. 

“We were sent to investigate the Burrow today,” Draco began, pulling out the photo of the Golden Trio that he’d taken from Ron’s room. “I found this, and one of those changing galleons, both in Ron’s room. The coin was warm when I touched it, the numbers across the top were 0257…” He hesitated. “...829. I had to give the coin to the Dark Lord as evidence.” 

She was silent for a minute so he added. “Do you think your little Order is stupid enough to be communicating using that?”

Granger didn’t respond, she had taken the picture of she and her friends and was holding it in front of herself. Her hands were trembling. She bit her lip, closing her eyes just before tears began to leak down her cheeks. She crushed the picture to her chest as if trying to hug them through the photo. 

Draco watched uncomfortably. He hadn’t realized how emotional her response might be to the photo, though he likely should have. 

Granger murmured something so quietly he didn’t understand. 

“Speak up, Granger,” He chided. 

“Thank you,” She sighed, covering her face with one hand. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen them,”

Draco looked at his lap. He remembered how it felt to have his mother’s life in his hands during his 6th year, never able to fully comprehend that she could die if he failed. He hadn’t let himself imagine what his life would be like if she had been killed then. But he wasn’t about to let Granger pull him into pitying her. 

“Alright keep the photo,” As if he hadn’t brought it for her. “But let’s focus on the coin, Granger. Do you think the Order is communicating using that?” 

She shook her head, wiping her eyes quickly. “I highly doubt it. I’m not sure where Harry’s ended up,” She glanced down at the photo, which sat on the couch now. “But his was the one that controlled the numbers on the others. If he had it on him when we were in the forest, which I doubt because I never saw it and I packed his things, it could have been taken away when we were searched at Malfoy Manor. If not, I’m not certain where it would be.” 

“And even if one of the Order did find it, how would the other coin holders know to trust or interpret the numbers given,” He added, pondering. 

Granger nodded. 

“So it’s very possible I sent the Dark Lord on a track that does not lead to the Order?” 

She nodded again, smiling a little with the corner of her mouth. “I suppose you did,” 

Suddenly, Draco felt another bought of pain rip through his head, the symptoms of his torture. He grimaced, covering his eyes with one hand and losing his grip on his wand in the other. It clattered to the floor as Granger sprang into action, grabbing some of the salve she had used the night prior and spreading it along her hands. When she pressed them to his head and began muttering her incantation, the pain eased but didn’t cease. His vision was multicolored behind his eyelids now, red, then yellow, then green. He was just starting to see shadows dancing behind his eyes when the pain stopped, and he sloped forward. Granger awkwardly caught him, laying him back against the couch arm. He inhaled heavily, trying to catch his breath. 

Granger got up to stand behind him and leaned over his torso, checking to make sure she’d smeared the salve all over each of his temples. She was biting her lip, maybe in concentration. Draco could smell... Was that parchment? He wasn’t surprised. 

When she was satisfied, she sat back in her spot and glowered at him. 

“Are you trying to Avada me with your eyes, Granger?” He sneered. 

She glared harder. “I simply don’t know why is it I help you,”

“How about because I saved your life, and continue to every day that I keep my mouth shut about you being here? You’re not an easy secret to keep, you know. One could even say that you’re to blame for my current predicament of fits since I wouldn’t have anything to hide right now if it weren’t for you.” He growled back. It wasn’t true that he’d have nothing to hide, he had stopped believing in the ideals that the Dark Lord practiced over two years ago, a fact which would have him punished severely if the Dark Lord were to find those treacherous thoughts in Draco’s brain. 

Nonetheless, it shut Granger up. Her eyes were wide, brow creased. 

“Well, I’m terribly sorry to burden your highness with attempting to stay alive while your master tries to kill everyone like me and our families, thank you so much for being half decent for once in your life and not killing me.” She half-yelled, standing. “Since it’s so terrible for you to not share my whereabouts with your little master, why don’t I just leave? Then you can continue your miserable existence here alone.” With that, she spun around and marched up the stairs before Draco could think of a sufficient response. 

Good riddance, he thought to himself. He didn’t need Granger down here mouthing off anyway. He pushed away any thoughts about staying in the cottage alone, especially those that involved his random crippling head pains. He would manage just fine on his own. 

He leaned over to pick his wand up off the floor, then walked over to his bedroom and slammed the door, just to let Granger know that she wasn’t the only one who could be loud. Seeing his Death Eater robes and mask on his bed, he hissed in disgust, returning them to their hanger in the least visible part of his closet. Then he impatiently removed last night’s evening robes. Standing in just his underclothes, Draco was finally able to lay down in his bed. 

Staring at the ceiling, willing sleep to come proved to make ignoring thoughts about Granger actually leaving a little difficult. Was she actually mad enough to leave? They’d argued before, but never to the point of her actually saying she would leave. He supposed it wouldn’t be too different around the cottage without her, he barely saw her anyway and he prepared most of the food since she rarely came down. He supposed he would have to figure out what incantations and cream she used to soothe his head pains before she left so that he could help himself. Oh, Merlin, he thought to himself, what would he tell his mother when he started showing up to events at the Manor without Camielle? She would certainly be entirely too nosy about the situation. 

What would his plan to overthrow the Dark Lord look like without Granger so close at hand? He hadn’t thought about that plan very deeply since he had originally saved her, so the plan at present was quite hazy, it was pretty much to find the Order and help them however he could. Would he be able to find them without Granger? Even if he did, there was absolutely no chance that they would trust him, even if he fed them information. Above him, Granger cursed after it sounded like she dropped something. 

Draco sat up in his bed. He couldn’t let her leave, she was his only chance at getting the Order to help him, and he needed them. There was no way he could escape the Dark Lord’s clutches without them, much as he loathed to admit. That settled it, he had to stop Granger. 

He got up and walked toward the door, then froze when he realized that he was still wearing only his underclothes. He grabbed a silky black night robe, threw it over himself, then marched out the door. He took the stairs two at a time, which was easy with his long legs. He cinched the night robe in the front just as he reached the attic door. He raised his hand to knock, then hesitated. Did he really need her bad enough to take back the words he’d just said? Was she going to expect him to apologize? Draco shuddered at the thought. Malfoys didn’t apologize. 

Draco was about to turn around before Granger threw open the door and crashed right into him. He took a step back and nearly toppled over, while she pitched forward. He caught her shoulders awkwardly as they bumped against his chest. Once she was fully stable, Granger pulled back immediately. Her hair smelled of vanilla, he decided unconsciously. 

“What are you doing up here,” She growled. 

Draco cleared his throat, straightening his robe. He didn’t miss her eyes, which flicked down to his chest, right where her head had been only moments ago. “I came to ask you not to leave,” 

He was shocked at how easily the words had slipped out. 

Granger looked even more shocked than he did, picking at the hem of her muggle jumper awkwardly and fixing him with a piercing gaze. 

“Why should I? You come home every day wreaking of blood, we bicker at every interaction, and I am forced to attend gatherings with you at the place where I was literally tortured, Malfoy! I can’t bear this any longer, I could easily survive on my own until I find the Order now that I’m healed.” 

He took a step closer, and when she didn’t move back, he took another. Taking in a deep breath, he gave her a sorrowful look, then glanced at the ground.  
“Granger, I’m sorry for what happened to you that day. It was unforgivable, what my aunt did to you in that house. What I let her-” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, still eyeing the ground. “What I let her do.” 

He took in another deep breath, pushing down his hatred of showing this sort of weakness. “I could have stopped her. She never would have expected it, I could have stopped her. I was right there, just… Just watching.” 

He glanced up at her now, and she met his eyes. Hers were wide with what looked like shock, and maybe a little appreciation. He didn’t think he deserved the latter, his retroactive reflection was useless to her now, after he’d done nothing in the moment. 

When she didn’t respond, Draco kept talking. 

“I know you wanted me to do something, I saw when you looked at me. I almost broke right there, when you looked at me between screams. Your blood was all over the floor, and I just let you lay there.” He hung his head, throat feeling a little tight. “Granger, I’m sorry.” 

She took a step forward to close the gap between them, hesitated, and then wrapped her arms around him in an embrace. 

Shocked, Draco looked down at her fluffy hair under his chin. He wasn’t used to hugs like this, if they happened to him at all they were usually stiff and cold, but Granger’s wasn’t like that. She hugged him tightly, without holding back. Somehow, this meant more to him than any words could have. He understood what she was trying to convey. 

So he wriggled his arms free and hugged her right back, crushing her against his chest as a sob tore from his throat. He buried his face in her hair and took in a heaving breath, scenting what he realized was her shampoo. 

“Draco, it’s okay,” She mumbled into his chest. 

But suddenly it was all pouring forth and he couldn’t stop himself. 

“It’s so horrible, Granger, serving the Dark Lord. It started in 6th year, Potter was right to be suspicious of me. I was branded before the year even began, sent out on the impossible mission to kill Dumbledore to punish my father for what happened the year before. Everyone knew I wasn’t likely to survive, especially me. My mother’s life was on the line too, not just mine. I suspect now that Dumbledore knew what I was up to the entire time, I wasn’t exactly subtle, especially with you lot accusing me at every turn. I quit quidditch and stopped paying attention to or even coming to class most days. You know, I really love learning, just as much as you do. It hurt me to start falling behind, spending every single waking moment consumed by how I would execute the plan. How I would fix the cabinet. How I would kill a man.” 

At some point, while he was talking, they had both slid into a kneeling position, and he continued to cry into her neck. Granger didn’t let him go, though, and now she was running her hands through the hair on the back of his neck. 

“It got even worse seventh year after Dumbledore was killed. The Dark Lord and the Death Eaters took over the Manor, and my father was broken out of prison. People were killed and tortured and consumed on the table I’d dined on hundreds of times, I had to watch it all. I wanted to die, Granger, I wished that I was brave enough to just do it. But I’m a coward, after my father.” He took in a gasping breath, trying to control his embarrassing sobs. 

She didn’t interrupt, but she hugged him a little tighter. 

“I went to school that year, what was the point? Both places were overrun by Death Eaters, bringing their horrible torture everywhere. At least at the Manor, I had my mother. My only ally. I was back for one of the breaks when you lot showed up, Potter looked absolutely ridiculous, but it was still obvious it was him, especially with you and Weasle. But I couldn’t just give Potter over to the Dark Lord, he was our only chance at stopping him. So I lied. I said I couldn’t be sure. And I paid dearly for it. After you all escaped, I was ordered to stay at the Manor, so the Dark Lord could punish me. He subjected me to weeks of legilimency, and the cruciartus curse. I barely slept and ate, and that’s when my head pains first started. He was trying to find the moment in my mind where I recognized Potter, so he could punish me further. I kept it hidden, somehow. Maybe it’s because I knew he wouldn’t kill me if he found it, he would just find some incredibly specific way to torture me, like using imperio to make me hurt my mother. He did that too, sometimes. She always said she forgave me, but seeing my own mother, the one person I truly loved, flinch when I walked in the room? That is the worst pain I’ve ever felt.” 

He took a deep breath again, trying desperately to stop crying. He was sobbing like a child in the arms of someone he didn’t even like, for Merlin’s sake.  
Well, he supposed he didn’t dislike Granger. In fact, of all the people in his life, she was probably the most tolerable. Certainly, they argued, but she was the closest match to his intellect that he’d met, he actually enjoyed watching her work out a problem. The focal point of his rejecting any seed of respect for her, he realized, was his internalized disregard for muggle-borns. Granger was a huge outlier to everything that his parents taught him that muggle-borns should be like. She was incredibly talented with magic, he’d seen her do wandless incantations more than once. Not to mention she was extremely fiery, not at all like the submissive slaves that his parents wanted her to be. 

And she was here, holding him together, while he sobbed like a child about what he’d been through. 

“We will figure out a way to get you out of this, Draco. I promise. We will find the Order, they can help us.” She whispered comfortingly in his ear.  
Finally, he forced himself to pull back and wipe his eyes aggressively. 

“You shouldn't ever talk about this,” He growled. Granger had the audacity to laugh, leaning forward to tuck a stray piece of hair out of his eyes. 

Suddenly, their gazes locked, her hand still resting against his cheek. Her smile faded into something more intense. He noticed with a start that she too had a few tear streaks on her face as he gazed into her hazel eyes, only a few inches away from his own. He leaned forward, eyes darting down to her lips. 

Before he could reach his hands up to grasp her face and pull her in, she tilted her head and closed the gap between them, pressing her lips softly against his. She pulled back only a moment later, stiff as a board, dark eyes thrown wide. 

Draco let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and surged forward. 

This kiss was far more passionate, the heat between them undeniable. He held her tightly against him, unwilling to allow his awful thoughts to come rushing back in. Her hands skimmed all over, his face, the back of his neck, through his hair. They barely paused to take a breath before meeting again, and again. Draco felt a surge of exhilaration spread all through his body, it felt unreal to be kissing Granger. 

It didn’t take him long to discover that he could wind his hands through her curls, using his nails to drag gently against her scalp. He was particularly fond of the sound that came out of her when he did, some sort of breathy exhale into his mouth. 

She was just starting to lean against him heavily when a loud knock at the door made them freeze. He felt her muscles tighten in his arms as a fearful gasp escaped both of them. They never got visitors. 

They both scrambled to untangle awkwardly, he was able to stand first, and he didn’t glance back at her as he made for the stairs. They had a plan that he knew she would follow if ever someone came to the cottage unannounced. 

When he reached the front door, he peaked out one of the windows to check who their visitor might be. With an annoyed, yet relieved huff, he yanked the door open.  
His mother stood on their porch, looking entirely more afraid than normal.


	5. Loose ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione get an unexpected visitor with important news, while they try to figure out the nature of their relationship. Instead of figuring it out, Hermione gives Draco the slip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter took so long! I hated how it was flowing, so I rewrote it about 6 times. But it's finally done, so enjoy!

Hermione watched as Draco scrambled down the stairs, before reaching into her pocket and digging around for the familiar metal of her polyjuice flask. It only took a moment to find it, she drew it out carefully, removed the stopper, and gagged. It smelled dreadful. She clenched her first, trying her best not to gag again. 

After she took a gulp, the effects of the potion quickly took over, making her skin bubble and her bones condense. Hermione bit her lip and closed her eyes, she would not cry out. 

Finally, the pain receded, and she was able to open her eyes. Before her, dainty hands clenched her wand and the flask. She stoppered the flask, glancing down at her muggle jumper. It simply wouldn’t do. In her mind, Hermione pictured something that she was sure she’d seen one of the Pureblood women wear to lounge around, it was long and cream white and flowy. She muttered the transfiguration incantation and watched as her jumper lengthened and lightened into the article she had pictured. 

Satisfied with her transformation, Hermione stood, hid the flask in one of the pockets of her robes and cast a locking charm on the door behind her, then started down the stairs. 

She hadn’t made it even halfway when she recognized the second voice coming from the first floor. 

“-apologize for arriving without notice, but I suspect this will affect you two. Where is Camielle?”

It was unmistakably Narcissa’s cool voice. 

Hermione took a steadying breath as she descended the last few steps and immediately made eye contact with the other woman. Narcissa was standing just inside the door, which Draco held ajar stiffly, as if he hadn’t wanted to let his mother in. 

Narcissa walked forward to meet Hermione, clasping Hermione’s hands within hers, a gesture that had not been extended to her before. It was a more typical greeting in Pureblood circles between a mother and child. 

Narcissa did not speak for a few moments, merely fixing Hermione with her piercing gaze. Hermione felt particularly awkward in the silence, simply standing in front of the older woman allowing Narcissa to clasp her hands. With growing horror, Hermione began to wonder if the woman had noticed the back of Draco’s hair, which she could see was sticking up in a fairly obvious manner. Hermione’s cheeks flamed. 

“Would you like to sit down, Mother? I can prepare some tea,” Draco interrupted Hermione’s thought process. 

Narcissa broke eye contact with Hermione, letting go of her hands, in order to turn to Draco. 

“Tea would be lovely, thank you Draco,” There was an unfamiliar edge to her voice today, Hermione noticed. 

Hermione waited until Narcissa seated herself in their one armchair by the fire before following Draco into the kitchen. He was reaching up into the cabinet near the stove to get their teacups when she walked in. She approached from behind to fix his hair, hand reaching forward when he abruptly turned around and crashed right into her. Their eyes locked as they brushed against one another. 

She stumbled back, letting out a sound of surprise. 

Draco glared at her. “Keep out of the way,” He hissed. 

Hermione glared right back. “I’m trying to fix your hair, you cranky loon.” She growled, grabbing his shoulders and spinning him around. She tugged the ends of his hair down, running her hand through it once just to be certain it looked natural. The scent of his cologne permeated her nose. His hair was softer than she expected. 

“You’re alright now,” She breathed. 

He huffed, pulling away before she’d even finished speaking. 

Hermione rolled her eyes, grabbing the kettle to fill, then selecting which tea blend she wanted. Her particular favorite right now was one she got from the local market, an herbal blend. 

While she waited for the tea to brew, Draco set some biscuits on a plate beside her. They stood so close that their arms brushed together, so lightly Hermione wasn’t sure that Draco felt it. Apparently, he did, because he then moved the plate further away to finish his job. 

Hermione wondered why Narcissa would come to the cottage so unexpectedly when they’d just seen her the night before. Normally, the woman followed Pureblood customs very closely, and showing up at their residence, unannounced, was certainly not one of the customs. It very likely had to do with the Dark Lord. 

When the tea finished, she and Draco carried all of the items out to the sitting room, where Narcissa gracefully accepted a biscuit and a teacup. 

Hermione and Draco glanced at their usual, separated spots on the couch, then at each other, before settling somewhere in the middle. They weren’t touching, but Hermione was very aware of Draco’s leg just beside hers. 

Narcissa took a calculated sip of her tea. “Your father has yet to return from the mission this morning. From details I heard during the…” She hesitated. “When the Dark Lord spoke with Macnair, there was little to find at the Weasley residence, and the Dark Lord was quite serious when he stated not to return without evidence. Macnair-” His voice cracked. She set her tea down and made eye contact with Draco. The older woman was clearly trying to hide the fear in her voice. “Macnair has just been killed. The Dark Lord is furious about the intrusion last night, he intends to wipe out these rebels immediately.” 

Neither she nor Draco reacted. Hermione glanced back and forth between mother and son, trying to decide what either of them was thinking. Narcissa was clearly in pain from her news, but Draco displayed no emotion at all. His face did not stir. 

“The Dark Lord is going to kill your father if he returns empty-handed,” Narcissa whispered, allowing a single tear to flow freely down her cheeks as she clenched her delicate teacup. 

Draco inhaled sharply, but when Hermione turned to look at him his face was completely stoic as if carved from stone. Hermione considered reaching out to grab his hand, she was sure his mother probably expected her to as his wife, but she was also sure he’d never let her.

Even with everything she knew about the horrible things Lucius had done to Narcissa and Draco, she knew Narcissa didn’t want him to die, but she wondered if Draco wished death on the man. He’d certainly done enough to warrant it. 

“If Father is killed, I will always take care of you, Mother,” Draco said suddenly, meeting his mother’s pained eyes. “I found sufficient evidence on the mission, I won’t be punished as Father may be.” 

Narcissa nodded along absently, staring into her teacup. She took a single, rattling breath. 

“We shall order the elves to make ready one of the other properties for you, as I assume you won’t be staying at the Manor,” 

Narcissa looked up sharply. “Draco, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, darling. Your Father may find something yet.” 

Draco simply stared at her blankly, and Hermione’s gut twisted. Draco clearly didn’t want to break it to his mother, but the chances of Lucius worming his way out of this mess were slim, and he clearly knew it. 

“I will order them to make ready one of the properties anyway,” 

The older woman sighed in defeat. 

Draco didn’t respond, choosing to gaze at the crackling fire instead. The orangey glow reflected off his features, casting moving shadows across his emotionless, pale face. 

Unable to simply sit any longer, Hermione reached out to touch Draco’s leg. He snapped his head around in response, his nostrils flaring, and shook her hand off. Narcissa’s eyes tracked between the two of them, her eyebrows raised in surprise. Draco scooted further away from her along the couch, despite his mother’s apparent interest in their scuffle, while Hermione squirmed and clenched her hands in her lap. 

None of them spoke for a further few minutes, simply staring at the ground or the fire. Hermione’s mind wandered briefly to her upcoming meeting with Ron, or who she hoped would be Ron. With growing horror, she realized that she hadn’t thought about Ron a single time while she had been kissing Draco, nor since then. What was she going to tell him if she did truly see him tonight? How was she going to explain that she’d kissed Draco? Or worse, what if he said something before she could get to it? Hermione cringed. 

Standing, Draco disrupted her thoughts once more and snatched her empty teacup with a glare, dumping it onto the tray beside his. She blinked. Had he somehow figured out where her thoughts had just wandered? He grabbed his mother’s cup and the plate of biscuits as well before marching them into the kitchen, the sullen look never leaving his face. 

Narcissa watched as her son clomped out of the room, balancing the items, before sighing and turning to face her. Hermione sat up even straighter under the older woman’s gaze, trying her best to tamp down her need for approval, even from a Death Eater’s wife. 

“It may be too late for Lucius and I, but please don’t give up on my son,” Narcissa began. “He cannot stand this life Lucius has trapped him into, despite his best attempts at escaping. He will need you, now more than ever. Don’t give up on him.” 

Hermione blinked again, taking in the other woman’s plea. While she immediately rejected the notion that a wife was meant to fix and be a caretaker for her husband, Hermione knew Narcissa was desperately attempting to help her son. Her son, who was barely more than a boy. 

Hermione met the other woman’s eyes steadily. Despite her and Draco’s issues, Hermione could never bring herself to abandon someone in need. Besides, she couldn’t exactly say that she truly hated Draco anymore, after everything they’d been through. He was just a child who had been put into an impossible situation from the start. And he’d saved her from almost certain death. It was unlikely she would have been able to survive her injuries on her own if Draco hadn’t helped her. 

It occurred to her suddenly that she could ask Narcissa why she had never left Lucius and taken Draco somewhere safe, even before Voldemort had risen again. Certainly, she had loved Lucius at first, but Hermione suspected she loved Draco more. She wondered what the Manor had been like while Draco was growing up before Voldemort had risen again. Had Lucius been a good father? It seemed unlikely. She suspected that he beat them, it wasn’t hard to picture. 

“Why did you stay?” Hermione whispered before she could stop herself. 

Narcissa froze, narrowing her cold eyes. “Excuse me?” 

“Nothing m’lady, my apologies,” Hermione quickly backtracked, lowering her eyes. 

The cool hatred of Narcissa’s voice crept into Hermione’s bones. “You still have much to learn of the world, Camielle,” 

Even though the insult stung, when she looked up, Hermione could see something in Narcissa’s eyes that didn’t feel quite as chilling as her tone. Pain, maybe. Or regret. 

Luckily or unluckily for Hermione, Draco returned a moment later, his face flushed. Perhaps he’d been listening to their conversation. 

“I will take my leave now,” Narcissa announced the moment her son had entered the room. 

Draco nodded, quickly offering a hand to help her up from the chair. He walked her to the door and pulled it open without speaking. 

They did not embrace, but Narcissa did reach out to touch her son’s cheek. He didn’t move as she leaned forward and spoke in a hushed voice that Hermione couldn’t hear. His eyes flashed toward Hermione, then he nodded in response and stepped back to allow his mother out. Hermione narrowed her eyes. 

Narcissa did not look back as she exited the cottage, a moment later, Hermione heard the pop of dissapperation. 

Draco didn’t spare her a glance as he shut the door and made for his room, despite her best attempts to meet his eye. 

“Draco,” She called softly. 

He ignored her. 

“Draco,” She said more forcefully. 

“Leave it, Granger,” He hissed, only a step away from his bedroom. 

She stood from the couch. “Draco, don’t just shut me out. Your father, he is a horrible man, surely you must want to talk about-” 

“Of course I want him to die!” Draco shouted, turning around furiously. 

Now they stood only a step apart. 

“That man, that man is the reason why my mother constantly wears things that cover almost every inch of skin. He is the reason why she and I have endured literal torture, Granger, the reason why there is currently a madman using our house as his base to take over the world, while I help! He deserves to die,” He continued in outrage. 

Hermione stood her ground. “Good, let it out, Draco,” 

“Stop calling me that!” He took another step closer until he was only a breath apart, panting heavily. His glare failed to hide the pain in his eyes. 

“No,” 

“I said,” Draco growled. “Stop calling me that!” He reached forward to roughly grab her by the shoulders. 

Hermione cried out, more in surprise than in pain, reflexively reaching for her wand. 

Even more suddenly than he’d grabbed her, Draco flew back from her. His face was quickly draining of all color when his back hit the closed door of his room. He froze, looking startled. 

“I- Granger, I-” He started. 

Without finishing the sentence, he pulled open the door and fell back into his room, slamming the door shut behind him with a deafening blow. 

Breathing heavily, Hermione simply stood and looked at the closed door. She reached up to brush aside the sleeve of her robes, checking to see if bruises were already forming on Camielle’s pale skin. There were no bruises, luckily, but the mild pain lingered. A little shaken, Hermione retreated up the stairs to her room. 

When she reached the top of the stairs, she pulled out her wand to unlock her door. Inside, her few belongings were packed into the small bag that she’d transfigured and placed an extension charm on. The only thing left was the pile of books that Draco had lent her, which were stacked on and around the nightstand. 

She was still shocked that he had grabbed her. 

Hermione sat on the unmade bed, nudging aside the pile of blankets to make room for herself. Was today the last day she would spend here? It would be most prudent to take her bag with her to meet with Ron, that way she would have her things if it turned out to be him. 

If it turned out not to be him, she decided it was time to go on the run. 

She would need to raid a muggle camping store in order to find the right supplies, but she was confident she could make it. She had taken care of Ron and Harry in the woods while Ron was injured and Harry was… not in an ideal mindset. Certainly, she could take care of herself alone. Sure, it had been nice to live in an actual structure for a while and eat at a real table and almost never be cold. Not to mention the number of books she had access to that she’d be leaving. But she would do just fine without those things, it wasn’t worth staying here any longer. 

Hermione scanned the room again to make sure that she hadn’t missed anything. The windowsill, her favorite spot up here, was still a little dusty since the last time she’d cleaned it. The late afternoon sunlight cast little shadows on the cushion, and she fondly thought of all the times she’d accidentally fallen asleep on the windowsill, book clutched tightly in hand. The small wardrobe on the opposite side of the room to the bed sat mostly untouched. She had only used it to store the gowns that Draco insisted she wear to events with his family, which happened no more than a few times a month. Her personal clothes, she had mostly kept either folded on the bed, or on the nightstand. She left the fancy gowns in the wardrobe, for Draco to have back. There wasn’t much else to note in the room, just the creaky floor where she had often sat in the middle of several books, back when she was still trying to figure a way to contact the order without alerting Voldemort or his followers. 

Sighing, Hermione decided to try to lay down for a little while. She would still go to the forest at dusk as Draco had requested, but she could care less if he came. In fact, she hoped he didn’t, he would just make it harder if she actually did see Ron, and he might try to stop her from going on the run if it wasn’t Ron.   
Either way, she wanted to be well-rested, it wasn’t as if she had been sleeping well at all for the last… well she supposed it had been over a year since she was consistently sleeping well. 

She fell asleep trying to shake the image of Draco’s terrified expression after he’d grabbed her. 

***   
A few hours later, Hermione awoke from a less than restful sleep to the sound of muffled cries. She tried to get up, but felt retrained. Glancing down, she realized that she’d forgotten to transfigure her clothes back into her own, and the transformation into Camielle had worn off. Struggling for her wand, Hermione transfigured her clothes back into her own. Finally able to breathe properly, she shoved off the blankets and hurried down the stairs. 

The cries were distinctly Draco’s, coming from his room. Her mind whirred as she scrambled down the last few steps toward his door. Was he having another fit of pain from his torture? Had someone come to the cottage to punish him for what his father could not accomplish? The possibilities were extensive. Wand raised, Hermione pushed open his door. 

Draco writhed on his bed, sweat plastering his platinum hair to his forehead. Pained screams tore from his throat while his hands tightly clenched the bedsheets. This was much worse than what she’d seen the night before. Scrambling back out of the room, she glanced at the living room table, where she’d used the salve the night before. It wasn’t there. Panic rising in her throat, she ran to the kitchen, trying to figure where Draco had moved it. Sure enough, when she opened the potions cabinet, there it was. She snatched the little bottle off of the shelf and returned to Draco’s room, where his cries were getting weaker. 

His eyes were rolled up in his head when she returned, there was even a little track of blood leaking from his nose. She quickly uncapped the salve and began applying it to his forehead. His hands snapped up to clench hers painfully. 

“Cut it out, you git,” She growled under her breath, shaking her hands out of his and continuing to apply the ointment. She began to murmur the incantation, channeling her annoyance and her fear for Draco into the spell. 

After a few minutes, he stopped shaking and crying out. She continued to work the salve into his head and neck, murmuring the incantation. After a few more minutes, he laid completely still, and his eyes slid shut. 

Exhausted, Hermione let her hands fall from his face and she slumped down. The wandless magic had taken a lot out of her. 

Her eyes trailed over his slumped form. A piece of his hair was hanging down across his eyes, so she reached forward to gently brush it back. 

Suddenly, she realized she had been sitting on the edge of his bed and she forced herself to stand, when Draco groaned.

His eyes fluttered open, and he turned his confused gaze toward her. “Granger?” 

She breathed a sigh of relief. He was still alive, at least. 

“Yes, it’s me,” 

He cursed, bringing a hand up to his forehead. 

“Granger, I’m sorry,” He whispered so quietly that she wasn’t even sure she’d heard him right. 

When she looked up, she expected to see her former enemy grinning at how he’d fooled her into thinking he’d actually apologized. But what she saw was a young man, barely more than a boy, who looked inches from simply breaking down. He still had blood beneath his nose, and his eyes were streaked with red. His formerly combed hair was still plastered in all directions. His eyes, usually so aggressive, were simply tired. 

Hermione considered leaving anyway. She wasn’t sure she was ready to trust him yet. In the whole time that she’d lived here, that was the first time when he had been physically violent with her. 

“I can’t stop turning into him,”

Hermione sighed, bringing her arms up to wrap around herself. “You aren’t your father, Draco. You have the power to stop yourself from going down that path any further.” 

He scoffed, running his hands through his hair. “Exactly, I have the power to mitigate what damage has already been done. I’ve already spent nearly half my life harassing and degrading other witches and wizards because of something they had no control over. Spent it tamping down anything I might feel for them other than contempt. Spent it-” He hesitated. “Spent it torturing them.” His voice was so low it was almost unrecognizable. 

“And now I’ve started hurting the only person who I actually-” Draco cut himself off. Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise. What had the end of that sentence meant to be? His cheeks tinged the slightest pink before he shook his head. 

“The point is, I’ve already become him.” 

Hermione took a step forward before she could stop herself and placed her hand over one of his. He flinched away from the contact, so she let him draw his hand back. 

“You should be afraid of me, Granger. I’ve hurt people like you.” 

She closed her eyes as the sounds of her own screams echoed in her ears. She instinctively touched the mark on her arm.   
Hermione took a deep breath, stepping forward so that she was at the edge of his bed. “Draco, you won’t hurt me,” It sounded weak, even to her ears. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince him or herself. 

“You won’t hurt me.” She repeated more firmly, holding out her hand, but not grabbing his. She would let him come to her if he was ready. “You won’t hurt me because you’re not your father, and you won’t hurt me because I won’t let you.” 

Draco met her steady gaze with wild eyes. Her heart clenched at the pained look he was giving her. 

“Granger,” He breathed. 

“Yes?” 

He reached up with one hand, cupping her cheek gently. Her stomach dropped. Was he going to kiss her again? Their eyes were locked, his wide and intense on hers.   
Instead of kissing her, he let his hand drop from her face and he looked away. She shook off her ridiculous sense of disappointment, there was no reason to be disappointed over that. He wasn’t Ron, after all. 

Oh Merlin, Ron! She snapped her head around to look out Draco’s window. Sure enough, the sun as just started to sink behind the cliffside. She scrambled back from the bed, brushing herself off. 

“What is it?” Draco sat up, alarmed. 

“Nothing, lay back down.” She ordered, pulling back her hair. “I’ll be upstairs,”

Draco ignored her, he appeared to be looking for his wand. “I know what you’re up to, Granger, I’m not daft. You’re going to meet with whoever left that message. Nice try, but you’re not leaving without me,” 

“You’re in no shape to go!”

He turned to glare at her. “I’m going.” 

She huffed, pulling out her own wand. “Don’t make me bind you to this bed. You’re not coming, you’re in no shape to apparate, and you’ll only make it more difficult if Ron really is there.” 

“As much as I’m sure you’d love to tie me to this bed, don’t even think about it, Granger.” 

Hermione raised her eyebrows. She muttered an incantation under her breath, and with a quick flurry of her wand, Draco was bound in rope. The image of him was quite laughable, he was tied in such a way that it wasn’t painful, but he couldn’t reach his wand, which was on the nightstand. 

“Granger!” He yelled. “This is utterly ridiculous, get me out of these ropes immediately! 

Smirking, she flicked her wand again and the ropes receded. Draco lunged for his wand immediately, glaring at her the whole time. 

“It’s not funny, you wretch,” He growled, in response to her giggles.

He stood, taking only two strides in order to stand in front of her. Hermione suddenly became very aware that he was not wearing a shirt. Her eyes flickered down to his muscled, scarred chest before they snapped back up to his face. His lips quirked up in a grin, he had seen her looking. 

“You won’t be leaving without me, Granger,”

She could feel his breath stir her hair. 

Hermione thought about what it might be like to kiss him right now, with her back practically pressed up against the door. She recalled how tightly held held her during their earlier kiss, yet how soft his lips had been. 

But he wasn’t in the right emotional state for kissing, and it would be cruel to initiate something knowing that. His father’s safety was in jeopardy, and he was having seizures because of the torture he was being subjected to, and here she was thinking about snogging him. 

Hermione shook her head. Either way, she needed to get out of here and go find out if it was truly Ron who had left that message. 

“You can’t come, Draco. You’re in no shape to fight if it comes to that, and if it really is Ron, he will very likely think you’ve kidnapped me.” 

His pupils dilated a little, and he leaned forward. He was only a centimeter away from her now. “Haven’t I?”

“Haven’t you what?” 

Draco placed his palms on either side of her on the door. “Haven’t I kidnapped you, Granger,” 

Hermione felt her heart skip a beat as their chests and knees grazed against each other. She wanted very much to lean forward and close the final gap between them, but it was undoubtedly the wrong time. So then why was he being so persistent? 

“You haven’t kidnapped me, Draco, I’m here of my own free will.” She ignored the obvious double meaning of what he’d said, pretending instead that he had just been talking about her stay at the cottage. She was studiously ignoring the way his shoulders looked when he shuffled his weight to the other leg, they certainly did not benefit from the lovely sunset lighting. 

“I thought I told you not to call me that, Granger,” He growled, moving closer. 

Instead of kissing her, like she had expected, Draco leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you go alone. So go get ready, we’re leaving in five minutes.” He finished his claim with a single kiss on the side of her neck, just below her ear. 

Hermione inhaled sharply. The scent of him was stuck in her nose, almost annoyingly so. She couldn’t help but lean forward as Draco pulled back, removing his hands from the door. 

She simply stood there, dazed for a moment. 

Unable to process whatever that had been, she found the door handle behind her and stumbled out into the hall. Draco smirked as the door swung shut behind her.   
What had that been?

Hermione shook her head, confused. Earlier, Draco had resisted her tough like it burned him. And now he was practically seducing her? Surely, this had to be a symptom of him being cooped up in the cottage for so long. She wasn’t sure exactly what he got up to on his missions, but he certainly never brought girls back here.   
And all of this wasn’t important anyway! She needed to find the Order, and this was the best chance she had gotten thus far. She wasn’t about to let Draco mess it up because he suddenly decided to care for some reason. 

No, she had decided to go alone earlier and she was committed to that.

Glancing back at the door to make sure that Draco didn’t see her leave, she quietly stepped toward the door and pulled it open. She summoned her bag from upstairs, which appeared in her hands a moment later. With one final look around what had been home for the last few months, Hermione took the final steps forward off the porch, past the wards that prevented apparition. 

Holding her wand aloft, Hermione spoke the incantation. Just as she was beginning to apparate, Draco noticed her through the window of his bedroom. They locked eyes, his thrown open in shock, and then she was gone. 

Her feet slammed into the ground a moment later. She almost lost her balance, but she righted herself just before she fell. The Forrest of Dean was silent around her, the last rays of sunlight fading away. She shivered, pulling her robe around her more tightly, she’d forgotten just how cold it got out here. Slinging her bag over one shoulder, Hermione scanned the forest around her. There didn’t appear to be anyone else nearby. She kept completely silent, listening for the tell-tale swish of leaves or the intake of a breath. 

Hearing none, Hermione raised her wand, and began setting a small circle of wards around herself. If she was going to fight, at least she would be hard to find first.   
Once she finished her wards, Hermione found a decent rock, and sat on the edge, gazing out into the forest. She was unsure exactly what time Ron had originally found them last time, all she knew was that it was night. But she was certain this was roughly the spot he’d been brought to. 

She would wait, all night if she had to. She needed to see if Ron would show. 

And so Hermione sat.


End file.
